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The Blacksburg Bender ...

also known as Labor Day Weekend, provides for an extra day of rest from our weekly routines, rings in the college football season and reunites us with old friends from the year previous. But this season would be very different; 37 seats would be empty and ESPN College Game Day present [Note: yes, Erin Andrews IS as hot as she looks on TV ... Kirk Hierbstreit is not.] -- adding to the already much anticipated Virginia Tech home opener. Here is a meager sampling of the weekend's wholesome, as well as solemn activities.*


The Man, The Myth, The Legend ... with his Mom. From Roanoke to Rosslyn, there are no more faithful fans than these two. Season tickets are spread out on the kitchen table several months prior, flights and hotels booked well in advance and new tailgate toys ready to be on display from the technician himself. [Not in this picture; home mending the anal cavity of his injured animal Otis. Seriously. He arrived shortly after this photograph was taken. ]


Yes, that is someones deck on top of a minivan. Several new inventions/games/technological feats were on display in the commuter parking lot. It's always nice to see where tuition money is being spent -- on future engineering achievements. After all, "WE ARE VIRGINIA TECH". Personal favorite: washers. Two pieces of wood, with three holes drilled into them, spaced equally apart, stand roughly 25 feet away from each other. The teams then proceed to toss thin, doughnut shaped washers into each until one team has managed to put each washer into each of the three holes. **** off Einstein, we have Uncle Char.


The Victims Game. There wasn't a dry eye anywhere during the In Memoriam video tribute to the victims. Yours truly, not even having attended the school, struggled with the emotion. After a brief discussion with a Domino's Delivery man/student, nearing the completion of 40 delivery's to that point [On a normal Saturday, usually only 10] it sounded like Cho didn't have it very easy either.





*Not included here is what happened Sunday. Some things are just too sacred, they just shouldn't ever be talked about. Ever. Know this, it involved: a pair of Dobermans, six inflatable tubes and a stuffed elks head. That is all.

PC Update: ¡despejó totalmente!

In their infinite wisdom, it has been communicated to me, they feel your's truly has satisfied all paperwork requirements and is officially cleared on all levels. Let's hope they do some sort of second round evaluation to make sure. For everyone's sake.

Biking for Burritos

Last year was about becoming accustomed to the new landscape. Biking from Alexandria to Silver Springs to the DC crap in between. While not having the most mountain-bike welcoming of trails, the area provided for easy access to some good eats; leaving impressions difficult to erase. Such was the case off the Capital Crescent trail. So difficult in fact, re-visiting a Mexican/Salvadorian abode was a two-part, patience-testing process.

Over the weekend, yours truly thought in his infinite wisdom it would be easy to remember roughly where this little shack was, maybe that even it would be metro accessible. I couldn't have been more wrong, and walking around in the 95 degree, 95% humidity hell wasn't helping the memory bank. I needed some assistance from a source who also would appreciate the hunt for great Mexican food.
"Pat, I need to borrow that tire pump u have."

Following a serious re hydrating session, rain storm and making sure no newly pumped air in my bike's tires had been lost, the next morning, with a renewed sense of vigor, I biked the exact same path taken a year ago. Roughly ten miles later, it was there just like I remembered it. Squeezed in between a run down auto parts store, frame shop and dump truck yard. However, not even close to the metro and been open since 10 a.m. serving cervezas to the soccer faithful, in walked one sweaty gringo. "Cerveza por f$%^&ing favor!" was going through my mind, but rather I politely ordered a carne asada burrito and Tecate. Probably not going to be the last time I make this trip.

Let's be clear about one thing: certain digestive items are worth a long bike ride, burritos being one of them. Vanilla-soy-latte-half-crap-decafs, are not. While most peopled plunked down in the froufrou coffee boutiques in Bethesda, up the road at El Norteno, across from Walter Reed Medical Center, was a belligerent biker enjoying a half English, half Spanish conversation with some soccer fans and two giggling waitresses. When one saw me yawn, she recommended "a shAWt tequila", I think. Suddenly, Saturday didn't seem so bad.

Who's the real Vick-tim?

My mother and her rabid miniature poodle "Buddy" are going to hate me for this, but another angle needs to be at least entertained. It wasn't lassie and rin tin tin fighting in the VA backyard of the Falcons QB. Terriers and chihuahuas weren't food deprived and sent after each others jugular. It's even hard to categorize them in the dog family. Try beast. There is a reason this species is banned from most major cities in the United States [San Francisco, Washington DC, Denver, the list goes on]. Placing them in the backwoods of Virginia where they can go at each other, rather than our toddlers, seems just fine to me. Not Central Park.

Theses aren't the kind of canines you find with a red ribbon bow around their neck on Christmas morning. Rather, it's their lock-jaw around your neck. It's hard to feel bad for a beast whose whole existence seems to just prey on other, well, mammals. Not claiming in the least to be a zoologist, I struggle to recall hearing one of them coming to the rescue of an old lady, or pulling a little girl from a snowy mountain pass. Any form of animal brutality and torture are never acceptable, and condoned here! [ie, electroshock, drowning] , however, putting two human-hating things to fight each other, rather than little Susy walking down the street, might be the best option. What else are you supposed to do; rehabilitate the rottweilier? Yeah, let me know how that goes.

Personal favorite: the PETA protesters outside the courtroom with rover shrouded in"Sack Vick" signs. Hmm, no pit bulls present. No Rev.'s in site, so you can throw out the race card. As far as the gambling allegations, please. We bet on dogs all the time. Sure, they aren't killing each other at the race track, but what are those roosters doing with their heavy-weight boxers, and with razorblades attached to their talons in South Carolina? They get to use weapons, a luxury not afforded my mom's poodle if cornered by a pit bull.

Authentic Oasis in Arlington

Compounding on previously noted restaurant escapades, a forgotten former endeavor has resurfaced. Let me explain. Maneuvering through the intricate Metrobus system afforded the vehicleless, bound for an REI pickup [more on this later] one discovers an area stretched along the Fairfax-Arlington County border, bedecked with some of the best Mexican-Salvadorian establishments for miles. Being overlooked for it's lack of name brand strip malls, Starbucks and froufrou dives, it makes up in big way with authenticity. Feared by some, to the sacred hole-in-the-wall seeker, it's heaven sent.

Options are infinite when it comes to capping off, or celebrating the arrival of much anticipated gear. Bundled excitement is released. Before going any further, here's the REI plug. Despite being the biggest outfitter, its hardly WAL-MART-like. First, it's not really cheap. Though it's not linked on this site as an outfitter, it too, like senior citizens, can still serve a purpose [i.e. trying on things like shoes and sandals, and backpack molding - kind of hard to "e-mold" an Osprey Aether 85 to your beer belly.] Plus it's cool every now and then to see, in-person, all the really cool new shit. And, there's a lot of it. Okay, gear distraction over, more food.

Roughly a year ago dos gringos es uno senorita drove up and down the street looking for, yes none other than, a real authentic place. Shocker, right? Blown away by its authenticity, from the the chips and salsa and yucca, to the beans and burritos laced with a thin queso, we forgot it's name. Swear it, we were all sober. One year later, it returns, and in omen like fashion. ATLACATL [that's right no website]. This time a gear-satisfied nut walked in on foot. Place hadn't changed a bit. The menu was a collage of old pictures glued together with rubber cement. 50 million little wooden framed pictures of people who could be anybody painted the walls, with Salvadorian flags hanging from the ceiling. Soccer on the one TV, a Telemundo soap opera on the other. Not even the waitress smiled when I said gracias here. To help us not forget again, I stole three 5x7 refrigerator magnets and a carry out menu.

Of all places ...

Rarely do I post about good articles; due to the fact that much of the mainstream media is questionable. However, when pieces are objective and have addressed the multiple angles of an issue being discussed, its worth a glance, and maybe even a read. This caught my eye in a local deli [Sidenote: no BS, it has the best chicken salad sandwiches in the city ... shut up, this is very hard to find!] today and I decided to look it up.

If I'm not mistaken, the locale was the subject of several Spike Lee "joints", (making it all the more intriguing) where emphasis was placed on racial and ethnic shit storms. Allegedly, times have changed. Here's what they seem to think makes the difference:

Elsewhere in the world, some of these people — Muslims and Jews, Russians and Ukrainians, Pakistanis and Indians — are at each others' throats. Here, Krase says, "They grasp it almost immediately: This is not the place for that."

Nor is it anywhere else. These people "get it". Get over the past and move on. The article has some great photos included as well.

Busboys and Poets … and PC

Being annoyed with my inbox filling up [52 to date and growing] with reminders of their gathering/socials/information sessions, I caved; and for all the wrong reasons. They’re web site and recruiters explained plenty. My reasoning: checkout a new bookstore/bar/coffee shop I had heard about. Previous patrons mentioned it was “cool”. Upon entering, it’s immediately obvious why they selected this social establishment for their social gathering. Painted murals of peace advocates, like Rigoberta Menchu and Joan Baez, blanketed the walls alongside Bush-hating Iraq War slogans. The aura was that of a first-date. After listening to, in the reserved large back room that included a stage for poetic performances, a Malawi RPCV and two hopefuls who were dragging their feet to press the “Submit” button for their applications, and some PowerPoint slides put to indie rock with an iPod, I made a hegira for the door. Not needing a motivational boost, with my paperwork hasta luego, I was ready. But tonight, I was physically hungry.

Meandering back to the McPherson Metro, and ducking into another Mexican-Salvadorian dive, [I’ve come to accept the marriage of these two bordering nations as one cuisine in DC.] a wasted night was averted. Why is it that the rain exposes us to diamonds in the rough? Apparently, it’s not just the humidity it helps clear up, but an astute awareness is excreted from our stomachs. If not for a slight drizzle, one would walk right on past this place … again, as it rests quietly close to many densely populated high rises. The hole-in-the-wall is apparently romantically attached to Las Placitas on Capital Hill, which I’ve never tried. But if La Villa pollo a-la-brasa mirrors their grub, I’m running for Congress. Mounted on the entry-way bulletin board are 4x6 photos from former fiestas held at this casa. Senoritas es muy caliente!!! Crawling past the digital jukebox blasting Mariah Carey in Espanol, I plunked down on a bar stool, botching my order in pathetic Spanish to a very pleasant wait staff. One horchata and nachos ranchero w/ chicken later left one extremely pleased soon-to-be PCV.

DC translates into decaf

FOR ALL THE scenes this douche-hole enjoys flaunting, when the subject of good local coffee shops creep into a discussion, seldom do unpopular names rush to the lips. In an area where big business is the best friend to so many, [“There’s a good Starbucks ...” or “There’s a good Dunkin Donuts …”] chain locations are highly likely replacements for hole-in-the-wall recommendations; thus making DC the decaf zone for good local coffee shops in the United States. This is not to suggest none exist, au contraire, the ones that do, are quite good. It just needs to wake up and put more baristas inside, as well as beyond the beltway, that don’t wear green aprons and bake macaroons all morning.

Like what is being constructed early on for the upcoming presidential race, many in the mainstream media, in their infinite wisdom, are prematurely assigning each pundit to a tier level. Similarly, local coffee shops have their own stages; each with its own patronage [campaign followers] faithfully assigned to them.

First, like any grouping, in order to be highly successful and respected in the world of science, parameters and constants are to be established. Local: must be metro/short drive (5 miles or less) accessible. Coffee: limited to bean-based drinks, condensed pastry selection, and sandwiches. Nothing fried. Shop: cannot be part of, or affiliated with an existing organization. Sovereignty is key here. This same categorical formula can be applied to your town’s local candidate and coffee shop tier levels. Seriously, try it. Plug in the variables to this equation with your city’s local coffee shop scene, alongside its democratic candidates, but in reverse order to see the correlation between coffee shops and campaigns (i.e. very convenient² + only coffee² + one shop² = Tier 1 local coffee shop, and coupled with a current Tier 3 Democratic Presidential Candidate).

This is not a hypothesis, rather the culmination of many undergraduate, as well as weekend hours studying why some shops are more appealing than others. As you will recognize below, from a candidate’s perspective, it’s not always good to be on top:

Tier 1: Gravel and Kucinich

Who? Exactly, one you don’t know, the other you barely do; parallels to perfect local coffee shops. Greenberry’s, Mocha Hut’s, 14^th and U Café’s, and Java Shack’s, collapse here. Like having only your hometown populations familiar with you – let alone your campaign even existing – encapsulated are the hole-in-the-walls only the locals know. Like a surfer’s spot on the Big Island, these baristas, and their patrons, have very little tolerance for Euro trash-like behavior or dress. If you do get music, you will not recognize it. Classifieds en Espanol and CityPaper are available for your reading pleasure. You will be asked to return your dishes to a plastic bin in the back. An off limits area to the public where mad chemists can test new product, is heard of but rarely seen. There will be a minimum on all debit/credit card transactions; they don’t care, sans any cash, be prepared to pull out your platinum. Metro/subway/transit accessible 99% of the time.

Tier 2: Biden, Richardson, Dodd

One can run his mouth; the other knows how to be diplomatic. The other one is barely at this level, but should be in a higher tier. These fall under the Tivoli’s, Murky’s, Firehook’s umbrella; quality brew, and a decent environment. Tendencies are, but not limited to, high-speed hoarding and pastry overkill, however, good roasting and who really minds the pastry smell anyway? Only the slightest remnants of douchebagery occur. City papers and classified ad publications creep onto the shelves. Since there are only a few of these in an area, they need to cover a lot of territory, thus strategically opening on weekends, whist some of Tier 3 can often be found closed in a city’s financial district. Vehicle access is required 50% of the time.

Tier 3: Edwards, Clinton, Obama

One spends oodles on putting product in his hair, the other a NY Senator, and one who raises bazillions; it’s safe to say this is the mafia of coffee chains. These are the Starbuck’s, Dunkin Donuts’, Caribou Coffee’s … vomit … Cosi’s, Au Bu Pon’s, Panera’s … further vomiting. Monday morning lines mirror depression soup lines. The Times and Post are normally the only available reads. International, eclectic music selections fill ones ear drums. Pushing their own products to consumers often results in a free froufrou beverage of their choice, reducing half the original price for a bag of beans. Making you buy more. Again, vehicle access is required 50% of the time, lowering to 25% during the work week.

You’re Italy, I’m Indonesia

Fellow sophisticates, approaching a well-manicured espresso escape is not my cup of tea. Correlating high-priced Tiffany light fixtures, with well brewed coffee, is a miscalculation. You’re Italy, I’m Indonesia. I’m thatched roof, you’re expensive drapery. Furthermore, indicators of high quality brew are hidden in the subtle, less-sophisticated elements of a java hole-in-the-wall. Emphasis on less-expensive furnishings allow for focus to be placed on conjuring up new frothy inventions. Work from local artisans shrouding the old brick walls, or a separate corner for barista lab work to take place, are good signs – not red flags. A billion pastry options are; a billion classified ads on the corner bulletin board are not. Limiting to biscotti’s, croissants, and bagels, as well as the occasional sandwich, is essential.

If a place has a hard time being “Google’d”, it must be good; further suggesting that only locals know about it. Lacking a thatched roof, one small brick-walled oasis, that fuses local musicians with its beans, is tucked alongside the U St. corridor. Being caught of guard by meeting my aforementioned décor pre-qualifications, not one, but two musical acts resulted from a long wait to receive my mocha and dry pastry via the high-strung barista [Legend has it that he previously bounced people out of his shop for hogging the high-speed.]. Some of the best coffee artwork dotted the old brick edifice. Ethan Allen had been replaced by an eclectic Goodwill selection and potted plants. And, of course, everything from yoga lessons to Realtors could be found on the bulletin board above the cream and sugar. And, probably due to shop owner inflicted fear, not everyone has connected to the internet [see Coffee Shops and Computer Labs].

PC Update: ¡papeleo acabado!

In the words of Jack Nicholson [As Good As it Gets - 1997] “Done, done, done …” and really not all that bad. Some impediment occurred, I’ll spare the details, but all the “papeleo médico, dental y pscych” is in the mail. And now we wait.

Bar Hopping

Stop. I already know what's going through your cranium. This is probably going to be some top ten list for the best bars in DC, Salt Lake, Seattle, or Portland. Wrong. Rather than attempt to elaborate on what edifices serve up the best adult beverages, I'm imparting a morsel of wisdom on a different assortment of bars; one’s that assume a rectangular form, and come in tight plastic wrapping. Nothing remotely resembling shots or pints; highballs or martinis. Furthermore, if not consumed in a modest dosage, can cause you to “fall of your rocker” and perform unfamiliar acts to the rest of society – such as running or biking.

While on a highly successful unemployment binge, I delved deeper into the world of energy/protein/good-for-you bars. Insistent on removing the Michelin from my waistline and possesing endless amounts of time, my excuse tank was on empty. I didn’t feel like doing the shakes or smoothies science experiment; rather a quicker, easier formula that included all the healthy shit (i.e., vitamins and minerals) one shoves into a blender. Considering the unwavering commitment and focus I possess towards good health and exercise; bar area top ten lists are not far off the horizon.

Before falling off the horse again and to keep you occupied, three rectangular objects taken at various parts of the day, serve a very utilitarian purpose, often found for a $1 and don’t taste like cardboard:

1. Zone Perfect Strawberry Yogurt (Breakfast) – Be realistic. You don’t have time to sit down, make a bowl of cold cereal, and watch a rerun of Saved by the Bell. Unless you’re my routine ridden cousin, even shaving becomes debatable when the fire alarm goes off. [Side note: very successful beard was grown during aforementioned binge.] Good taste for the morning. Out of Stock: grab the graham cracker or mint flavor.

2. PowerBar Harvest Oatmeal Raisin Cookie (Lunch) – It helps if you actually like oatmeal raisin cookies. If not, the proselytizing icing makes a convert out of you. I tried a few others from the Harvest collection, but still came back to the ORC. It’s like a quad espresso in plastic. Taken about an hour or so before you leave the office, it will make the jolt out the door even easier. [2^nd Side note: a quad espresso is the last thing I need.] Out of Stock: any one of the other Harvest selections.

3. PureProtein Smore's (Dessert) – This is the tiramisu of protein bars. I am hooked. There is crack in it. Out of Stock: Nothing. Cry. You’re life sucks. Ok, not really, but it would be better off. Get your grubbies on some real Tiramisu instead.

Burberry and Blackberrys

Beginning a new job always lends itself to comparisons of old gigs. Thoughts of how matters were previously carried out by superiors and subordinates in relation to the present state of protocol creep in. Environments drastically mirror or are a refreshing opposite state of turmoil. By comparison, like having a different teacher each year in school, the students remain the same; coworkers (students) of each category seem to follow from job to job, while the employment oasis (school) remains constant. Some recent observations.

In the U.S., people work in one of two places: the city or suburbia (or at home, which can be either city or suburbia). Recently, after migrating back into the nucleus of the nation's capital, I became reacquainted with the typical metro DC worker. Either public or private sector, it need not matter; ethnicity or gender not an issue. Regardless, there is the double-breasted dark suit sporting individual endlessly attracted to the crack in the palm of his or her hand, known as the Blackberry, which has assumed a highly addictive form, known as the Pearl (not to be confused with the little white rock-like substance from the '70s). Then, clothe made from the fancy flannelled fabric known as Burberry. Ranging from shoes to purses to umbrellas, the black and tan flaunts the upper white-collared class of the city. We are way beyond Starbucks at this point.

Of course, I am one to properly assimilate with the current fads. Proudly flaunting my fashion sense with khakis (so to maintain a certain highly-distinguished level of professionalism) and carrying in my pocket a cellular device, known as a phone, that I only take out once I've arrived at my desk, my highly decorative polo shirt and a I put in eight hours, eat lunch and go home.

¡Mi casa, Su (Oaxaca) Casa!

¡Los amantes de Guajillo rejoice!

The same owner who brought the Mexican restaurant on Wilson Blvd in Arlington has built another Mole Casa. When I search for a new restaurant, I do so on foot, not by turning pages. This is largely in part from not residing in the area very long; allowing me to explore the realm of culinary possibilities more meticulously by taking in each passing establishment. Also, proudly, I don’t own a car. Besides, it allows me to independently judge for myself how good a hole-in-the-wall is; thus reducing the amount of disappointing possibilities from reading pages of reviews. So, stop reading and start walking, lazy bastards.

Separated by two levels, it only faintly differs from its sister restaurant in Northern Virginia, Guajillo, most noticeably: the dark-orange painted walls, crucifixes, and no outdoor seating. But the menu and service are mirrored. Resembling a fine wine list at an Italian bistro, a tequila catalog blankets the right portion of their menu. Try the el Conquistador or Cazadores. No chips and salsa while you’re waiting. No burritos or taquitos anywhere. Rather, jicama wedges sprinkled with chili powder while you wait for your Mole Poblano or Red Snapper Ceviche with pineapple.

The cantina below, which is where I spent most of my time, carries a quiet feeling that includes additional restaurant seating from above. Since I’d previously had Mole, I wanted something new. A couple of them: Cheladas and Grasshoppers. Chelada is Mexico’s version of a bloody mary, infused with cerveza. The strong peppery liquid is not your ideal thirst quencher, I still can’t figure out why so many people were drinking them. The grasshoppers had been diced up and layered on a queso dip called Cazuela de Queso con Salsa y Chapulines served with tortillas. While it seems a stretch to try an insect, the cheese overpowers it, leaving you wondering where they even were.

On to the Mole – 50 % of the reason I was looking for a place like this. Enmolda is Black Mole caked on a cheese quesadilla with diced onions. It was just like I remembered: simple, distinct and good. The Mole rainbow ranges from green, yellow, and red, often served together as Tres Moles in most casa’s; separately, Poblano being the hottest. For those unaccustomed to this type of authentic fare, there are tacos to settle the distant feeling. For your peso, this is place is reasonable when you consider the rare plate of food in front of your jaw. Significant infrastructure upgrades are necessary, such as outdoor seating and additional beer taps (only Dos Equis Amber is flowing). But if enough people keep drinking that lethal Chelada, maybe they don’t need to. I’m not coming in out of the cold for it.

Three Groups, One Corner

I’ve only been back working in DC for 2 ½ weeks. And only in DC is it possible to be approached by three separate organizations, on the same corner, within 24 hours. First off, I support the anti-clubbing of baby seals in Greenland, equal rights for Republicans and putting a liberal back in the Oral Office. But, I do this in various ways; none of which include having a discussion with some tweed at 5 pm when it is 95 degrees and a steam room outside, or writing a check. I vote, end of discussion.

The interesting thing is that none of these organizations have the slightest conservative scent to them. Conservatives write blank checks, Liberals stand on street corners with binders. One seems nobler; while the other actually works better. Strategy is the art of getting things accomplished. The whole street corner thought needs some re-visitation, because if I’m not willing to stop and talk, that means they weren’t already talking to someone else.

el karaoke jefe

One of the perks about starting a new job is seeing old friends from previous gigs. You find out what life is like in the post-you era; how much better things have been since you dispersed the premise. Work actually is accomplished; less people are offended, stress levels lowered. In return, you find out bits of information regarding certain individuals that seemed only a myth at the time. In short, questions finally get answered. Case in point: Did some of the least-likely to perform karaoke, really get behind the mic?

Legend had it that an old coworker did this on a fairly regular basis. However, this was different. No large crowds, no alcohol in his system, and no bright lights. This was karaoke in its purest form. Previously, I had attended several after hour adult liquid establishments with this person. No indication or signs of a music repertoire, with the exception of an unusually astute awareness and appreciation for the oldies. He didn’t talk a big game, just said he was into it.

I had no expectations. After pulling into Fort Meyer, and having our car cavity searched by Delta Force, we proceeded. I can't ever remember being on a military base; especially not for karaoke. I'm not sure many of the general public does either. There couldn't have been more than six souls there before the post-coworkers entourage walked into the esteemed Patriot Zone (Picture an Elks Lodge in a high school gym on prom night.) The complimentary buffet, made up of left over mess hall delicacies like luke warm meatballs and chicken wings did not disappoint. Well, long story short, we were out before we could finish a basket of Lays and pretzel bites. Not to be disappointed, as it turns out, the myth was a reality. That old coworker did belt out a few oldies from the list he had printed out before leaving work that day. If you want to find out how it sounded, try Thursday’s at 7:00.

Coffee Shops and Computer Labs

I am in my studio sitting at my bistro table. Why? Because this means that I am not surrounded by the slurping of latte-halfcrap-shot-soy-decaf from outstanding law-abusing citizens that hoard free wireless access at my morning watering hole. The cool part is most are paying for it at home anyway. Listen, I fully realize the need to get out and stretch the legs, view the dispicable public, and contribute in some small way to the local economy, but go home and work on your soon-to-be award winning screenplay. Do a few laps around Barnes and Noble.

The outcastic feeling that surrounds my degraded soul as I enter a place of caffeine worship stems from my lack of desire to fit in with everybody else. To "plug and play" with the rest of the kids. Nope, not me. I like to sit down, read the paper, eat a pastry and enjoy the serene indie music (probably some smokin' bistro-chics boyfriend's band). But no. It's keystrokes, Inbox chimes, and someone's own overplayed teen bop sewage. The refuge has become the jungle.

Then, there are those that can't afford wireless internet and lounge for hours. Spending $2 over a six hour period, oggling attractive female grad students, and tipping 10 cents. Not before too long, this will be like the health care debate we see today: free universal high speed internet. Michael Moore will direct and it will titled: "Wired! What's wrong with America's Internet Connection?"

4th of July at River Place

The Venue ...
... Flip Cup
... One of two grills being used



... and a Portugese Water Dog

Unemployment's Sad Farewell

Monday marks the end of an era, and the birth of another full-time desk gig. Wow am I excited. I think it moved. I have been clean and work-sober for 30 days. I really didn't go anywhere exciting, just did some things, and saw others that I had been putting off for far too long. Vacations are for people who work. Saturday is no different than Tuesday. Instead of watching Kung Fu or fishing, I read a little here, loitered a little there. There is something really noble about getting java and then doing an about-face, and walking back home in honor; passing dazed neighbors as they drag their aching bodies to the metro.

It was God's way of reminding me why I called in sick and went to NYC with my mom, brother and sister for those couple of days, a month before I quit. One of the best parts about this
time period, was not having a woman telling me to get a job. On the contrary, many found it quite attractive.

I spent many unproductive sunny poolside afternoons staring at beautiful women, eating nachos, drinking mocha's, and staring some more. I was able to take care of some painful Peace Corps paperwork, and in the process, visit some not so well-known sites that DC offers; such as the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, Bourdain's DC restaurant and the National Zoo. I finally mailed birthday presents that were two months late. Got some photographs framed. Did the shave and haircut thing. Also, am I the only one who thinks that 50% of the people going for a haircut really don't need one, and just do it out of routine?

This is all good and well, but despite my best efforts, the end is near. I have no words of wisdom, like "Take some time off and take stock of your ... " or "Take some time and think about ... ". Rather, I have 48 hours to find a way to get rid of this new job and continue the envious bliss.

You've got mail?

Months ago, a couple neighbors and myself, over tasty German adult beverages, were outside of our apartments engaging in what is always an interesting conversation. Really, I'm fortunate to have excellent neighbors. That cold evening topics ranged from relationships, to politics, to alcohol, due largely in part to the latter. However, something profound came up that night that is worth further consideration, obviously, because it hasn't left my head and I'm writing about it.

In today's society people talk in one of two ways: the cellular phone or the Internet. Shit, that's the same thing, sorry. In fact, I can't remember the last time someone confessed to me they wrote a genuine letter, on lined 8 1/2 x 11 inch paper, walked out to their mailbox, and flipped up the little flag up. Can you? My own tech-savvy mother hasn't even done it since I've been out here; that being said, I am humored when I receive her emails [this week there was an attachment on one]. But there is another angle to this communication fiasco, the loss of the human element; the personal, genuine touch that comes with taking the tedious steps of writing a letter and filling it with glitter or some other cut up pieces of shit. Greeting cards are a cop out, plus ecards are alot more interesting. Furthermore, dialing someone up has now become a thing of the past.

That's what technology does, it makes us lazy. Names have been replaced with screen names; mailboxes with inboxes. Admit it, it's much easier to end difficult relationships through a text message, email, or instant message, than it would ever be over a phone call, or if the minerals are strong enough, actually in person. Has anyone ever called you back to tell you that you didn't get a job? Yeah, me neither. It's now even easier to cancel plans on ugly men or women, or say "Merry Christmas" to thousands of people like my friend Steven Goldstein. Tears really flow down my eyes when I get those text messages every New Year's Eve.

Understandably, emails have their place [ie, sending resumes, daily correspondence, sending nude pictures quickly] The worst text message: "Hey hows it going?". Just call dammit, if you want to have a conversation. And the worst time to do it: the weekend, when phone calls are unlimited.

Ripping the Heart Out

We need more reviews like this one. I rarely read these as is, but I have a particular interest in this region, and somewhat, this story. Lazily on my ass, I viewed all the TV commercials barking about "Oscar worthy" this and "best performance" that and blah, blah, blah. I always enjoy hearing the other side of the story, especially when it is a first-hand account.

Understandably when you turn the rights over to a studio to do your story, they pretty much have free reign on what comes into their money-grubbing minds. But the least they could do was represent your main character, Danny, not his wife, authentically. Remember, no Pearl, no story. From the reviewer, and personal accounts, it reads as if this should be an investigative documentary about him, not her. Not some drama cesspool. Furthermore:

But recasting a story just so we can tell ourselves that we've found a hero is too easy. It's the quickest way to convince ourselves that what happened wasn't such a bad thing, that it had redeeming value, that we can close the book on it and move on with our lives. We do it too often -- with television shows about ordinary people with extraordinary powers, with magazine features that extol the "heroes among us" and with our impulse to elevate every story -- think Jessica Lynch, ambushed and wounded in Iraq -- to one of heroism.

is a wonderful side note about heroes and how we label them as often as Sam Adam's does its beer. It's also nice to see an admission of guilt in assisting with the process. What should have been done, is to tell Pitt and Aniston, to piss off and find an indie director who wanted your assistance every step of the way to ensure the validity of Pearl's character.

Best of luck in finding anything more about Mr. Pearl's death. "It is absolutely the business of a journalist." I know it probably hurts to hear that.

Mole, Masala, and Mochas

A few years back I dated this girl and we started a weekly ritual to try one new restaurant a week. I know, incredibly original. But with my busy work and school schedule, we managed to comb the valley before I left for an internship on the east coast. Furthermore, we discovered that we previously ate out way to much and deciding on this made the most of our trips out. Together, even after not lasting a year, we still managed 52 new restaurants, some as just friends. If you happen to stop by SLC, here is your culinary starting place, anything else is a waste of your precious layover.

Some overall observations about dinning in SLC. It is underappreciatedly great. It's much cheaper than NYC, LA or WDC, but not lacking in flavor or authenticity. When it comes to a good coffee shop -- despite popular opinion about the Mormon population -- SLC rivals Seattle and Portland in really, really good local roasters, and astonishingly, there are plenty of them. I could write up a separate entry just for those. The reason I don't, is cause there wasn't one I really did not like. And, yes, you can order alcohol with your meal. And even for you lushes, that too is cheaper.

Below is a short, mixed sample of what you can do in between disembarkment and departure:

Bombay House: I will keep this brief. Eat here. Nothing fancy, just amazing, reasonably priced India fare. Briyani, dynamite. Curry, outstanding. Masala, amazing. You know a restaurant is good when it is forced to pack up and move for zoning reasons, and the business still booms. Sort of like groupies, the people follow you, anywhere. This place is a priority when I return.

Mazza: Best hummus to this day. I am comfortable, and stick by the statement. It's a small, simple establishment but you will never forget what you just had. For non-vegetarians, the kaftas, shawarmas and kebabs are done well in both their sandwich or solo form. My best friend Meghan is a vegetarian. I am not. But the falafels she introduced me to where done well.

Kyoto: Sushi can be either really, really good, or shit. There really is no in between. I have never walked out of a sushi place and felt so filled in a very good way. Kind of like a "cleansing" feeling. Also the Kobe steak is ridiculous. It also has a great Japanese atmosphere about it. The sushi chefs are engaging as they meticulously roll your fish, rice and avocado.

Betos: This is an institution. The shack on 3300 South State Street is my favorite. Still the best chicken burrito to date. This place falls into the "hole in the wall" category. Open 24 hours makes it even better, shifting crowds from Taco Smell. Eventually, it will be these guys buying out the Chilis and Chevys. Salsa bar is included, cashiers speak little English and nothing but Telemundo on the tube. Muy beuno!

Red Iguana: I love mole. I love it's flavor, texture and temperature. I make no apologies for that whatsoever. There is a reason this place doesn't advertise alot, the food speaks for itself. Situated in an area known by locals as "Little Mexico", you feel right at home in Pueblo when you pull up. If I remember correct, they devote an entire section of their menu to the varieties of mole on tap.

Cedars of Lebanon: Not to be confused with the brand name in supermarkets. Better ambiance than Mazza, and still very good. Slightly more expensive, and make sure and reserve the back room on a Saturday night with the belly dancers. Excellent for a Mormon bachelor party. Included is a Lebanese deli attached to the left of the restaurant for lunch goers.

Bohemian Brewery: Who thought Vespas would make a great decorative item? Obviously, beer selection, specifically Czech, is not in shortage. Like other breweries in the area, you can sample in different sizes. Scandinavian fare is typically rare in SLC, which gives them an edge, but their taste is not. If my grandpa, who is a WWI vet, wanted to go back, I knew it must be good. Awesome schnitzel, plus everyone around the table during their anniversary dinner, seemed pleased.

Sugarhouse BBQ Company: Located in probably my favorite area, slightly resembling Berkeley, this place will fill up fast during lunchtime. It is Memphis style bbq. Haven't been back since it finished remodeling, but if you have to add space, you're doing something right. The sauce was what did it for me. There is a smokey flavor to everything and goes excellent with Cutthroat Pale Ale. Probably one of the best beer/ribs combination out there.

Rodizio Grill: More meat. More Brazilian meat. Also, in a very cool part of SLC, despite the recent trenchcoat, nut-job shooting. While carnivores are being fed, vegetarians can surprisingly lust after one of the best salad bars. It's a nice combination of juicy slices of meat, coupled with a cooling sensation from fresh stuff at the green bar. The best part, for the quality, it's inexpensive, especially during lunchtime. The downside, you won't be productive for the rest of the day.

The Pie: Alright, there isn't a single Italian restaurant on this short list. Get over it. Eat at The Pie. At the base of the U, in a basement, hides another institution. I spent many unproductive study sessions here. Thick and over-cheesy pizza is a beautiful thing.

Potomac meets Nile, Yangtze, Amazon, ...

Blanketed with over-priced, high rise condos, inhabited by the white, upper class of the U.S., it is refreshing to land in an estuary of others from distant lands. Be it South Americans working in economics at the World Bank, Eastern Europeans working for their embassies or the IMF, or Mongolians in IT. There is something to be said about rarely hearing your mother tongue in the elevator or laundry room.

Experiences rooted by living in such circumstances are scary, but very cool. Like when a Mongolian family tried cooking a turkey on Thanksgiving. Being the pragmatic people they are, when the damn bird wouldn't fit in the oven, they just left it open; allowing them to meet our fantastic Arlington Fire Dept. Or the time when my Argentine neighbor asked me to request a couple of Cambodian lesbians to turn down their music so she could sleep. Concierges are East Indian, Filipino, Ukrainian and Moroccan; pool lifeguards all from the Czech Republic.

With North, South, East and West plastering each of the four edifices, it's no wonder that residents come from each corner of the globe. Rather than seeing barbwire, names of past/ present lovers, or fancy designs; Genghis Khan like helmets tattoo the shoulders of gym rats. While free morning coffee, newspapers, shuttle service and a computer/fax/printer center are cute attractions, I wouldn't trade nights of authentic Turkish coffee with the ambassadors assistant, or first hand accounts of Mother Teresa in India, for anything. Those that enjoy the former, please, do us all a favor and stay put.

Padre Day

With my own father on the other side of the continental U.S., I celebrated with my VA padre, Char. Grilled some steaks, observed him tinkering around the yard landscaping, and watched the U.S. Open on HD. There really wasn't a better way to watch it, so here's the abbreviated version of how it all went:

1:00 Brett arrives and we haul out to Fairfax in sweetness, where we find Char toiling in the yard like Tiger to make a single birdie putt and Baddelley not to cry after the first hole.

3:00 Tiger tees off, Baddelley tanks, and Angel lights up on some fairway.

3:30 to 6:00 15 holes later. Pittsburyk surges, Tiger keeps paring, and Angel flicks bud onto fairway and finishes +5.

6:30 Char begins the grilling and Brett finishes bathing sweetness. We break out the TV trays for the 17th and 18th, Tiger's last hope. Angel takes another drag.

6:45 Bunker shot on 17 is really the final straw. Another par. To 18, never mind, he lost by a stroke.

7:00 Angel stands on some walkway cheering forever, eventually realizing he actually needs to go down and get the trophy.

7:30 Angel points and laughs as he walks past Tiger and receives the cup via translator. Muy bueno! Laughing as you walk past Tiger is ballsy.

7:45 Angel signs deal with Marlboro and converts trophy into world's largest ash tray.

Paperwork

It arrived two days ago; via First Class Mail, with my name and address glaring through the rectangular window.

The first page basically outlines what is in said package, and well, blah blah blah...

On the second page they tell you what most people mess up on and how it often delays their departure. Then some guy's name to call if there are questions. I bet he loves his job.

I thought the third page [REPORT OF PHYSICAL ABILITIES] was a little thought provoking, question #5 being my particular favorite:

Can you bend, squat, kneel and climb without any problems? (Remember, many countries only have squat type toilets)

( ) Yes ( ) No

Question: How do the later two relate to the former [kneel and climb in relation to bend and squat?]

Dress Code Debacle

Today, everybody is writing about The Sopranos. I really don’t give a flying, and the fact that so many people are concerned with it, kind of scares me. I watched it, it was a good show; now get on with your dismal lives.

In any case, the weather has changed...and it's getting f&*@##$%^ hot! I slowly wandered into DC only two metro stops, got off, and was sweating profusely. It occurred to me that, if I was suffering, then what in the hell were people in suits and ties going through? It's that time of year when baby blue shirts turn into navy blue, pink to neon red, only two seconds after stepping out of the office. It's that time of year when you walk into the office and some loser tells you, "It must be hot out there." And you respond with, “And that’s why you’re a secretary.”

So this got me to thinking about doing away with suits, ties, and slacks. Rather, nice khaki shorts, short sleeve shirts, and sandals. Switching attire has a high probability of lowering that sweaty stank from all your employees who have to walk blocks to your building…which is about 90 percent. Morale can only go up, and stress decline. I realize there are construction workers around the country calling me a pussy right now…but they are also the one’s in shorts and t-shirts. And "casual Friday" is bs. All that goes is the suit.

Note: Be especially sensitive on Mondays. They are especially pleasant because the AC has been off the entire weekend to conserve energy -- and takes light years for it to come on, this morning was not a neat reminder.

Zoo Part Deux

Memo To all Tourists

I realize this post is about a month or so too late. But it is still possible to contain the problem. Depending on where you are from, the levees broke, or put another way: your kids were let out on their summer break. This resulted in you making a big mistake -- the family pilgrimage to the nations capital, where I now reside. In Salt Lake, they came in the winter; in DC they come in the summer. I really need to start finding a place of employment that has zero monuments/historical sites.

The following are three simple tips to help losers visiting the DC area, if you already know them, congratulations, you are not a loser, still read them anyway:

1. Most of us use the Metro system. Avoid this mode of transportation during the hours of 6-10am and 4-7 pm. In fact, don't use it at all. Take taxis, you don't know what to do when the doors open, or what side of the escalator to stand on. (walk= left side; stand= right side, and yes, this applies to both up and down those technological marvels) And you look at the map like its fireworks on the fourth of July.

2. When piles of you disembark those large buses and invade eating establishments, try to avoid this and pack a lunch. Seriously, go to the store, buy some bread and lunch meat, and fix up a bologna surprise. This goes for lunch and dinner. I dare you to try a Starbucks Monday thru Friday -- we work here, which means we drink here, which means we need our coffee a hell of a lot more than you. A great distraction example are the little t-shirt vendors, they are really there to keep you out of our malls.

3. If you ask us where a certain monument is, we will screw with you. If you can't figure out which is which, we will take advantage of it. If you ask us where the Lincoln is, we will send you to Jefferson. Same goes for the Holocaust, when you really want Air and Space. Educate yourself before you come, it gives us more of a challenge.

Other places to go visit rather than DC: Canada.

The Zoo

It’s not every day you wake up and immediately find yourself in the distinguished company of the top four or five percent of the population – I’m making the most of my new found status, as it could change any day now. I relish my new found sense of accomplishment, realizing that such a feat is not easily attainable. The risk itself is enough to make some cringe and back out at the last minute.

The benefits certainly are overwhelming. For example, rather than motivational speaking tours, I am able to make long anticipated trips to the zoo, displaying to little elementary school kids everywhere, that they too will someday, if they apply themselves, walk around this park with their heads held high in pride.

With a stalwart bloody mary-screw driver-mimosa pregame under my belt, I march past the lion sentinels and into the National Zoo. It’s been a good five years or so since stepping into a sanctuary of caged beasts. This place is a huge crap shoot. Some of them know you are coming, and hide behind bushes. Thank God it’s free. After a couple hours meandering I leave with one conclusion: there needs to be a certain time when adults can visit, and certain times when children can, OR double the quantity of animals and make two parks: one for adults and one for children/families.

More in common

There is an article out there today which sheds some portion of light into the Israeli decision to take over the West Bank and East Jerusalem in the Six-Day War. While his questions are worth a thought, so is the commonality of the US decision to take over Iraq. One key difference is that we do intend to leave Iraq, while Israel is far from releasing the WB and EJ. Worth a read, just to get the international affairs part of your brain moving.

Drug Store Protocol

It happened again. Convenience /Drug store customers never cease to amaze me. I can only imagine what it must feel like for the employees. Be it a CVS, Rite Aid, or Walgreen’s, it's all the same. I don't think it helped that I had been slow roasting in the afternoon heat and so therefore, displayed Bush-like patience. Here is my case, brought before the masses, for a simple, standard in Drug Store Protocol, known as DSP:

Violation resultant in disbarment from aforementioned establishments within a 10 mile radius from my apartment.

Section 1.1

Mass grocery shopping to be left to the supermarkets. Applicable, but not limited to, Safeway, Harris Teeter, Giant, Albertson's, and Trader Joe's. Notice, you have plenty of other options -- they also have amazing engineering and logistical devices known as "express lanes" and "self-checkout", drug stores do not. There is a reason for that. Compliance is appreciated.

Section 1.2

Not paying attention while talking on cellular devices, that lead to stupid questions and the trying on of cheap pink or blue sandals, is frowned on as an act of the highest level of stupidity. Notice any changing rooms at a CVS? That's because you shouldn't be buying articles of clothing there in the first place. Do this at the mall or your other retail options. Again applicable, but not limited to, Nordstrom’s, Macy's, Meier & Frank, Mervyns. You can try on as many exciting outfits there as you like.

Section 1.3

Be it understood that Drug/Convenience Stores are intended for the sole purpose of buying crap in small quantities. There are no shopping carts, only hand carts. Guess why? They don't want you to buy a lot of stuff. Neither do I, and every poor soul standing behind you. There is not a produce, meat or delicatessen. Therefore, there is nothing to smell and make sure it "feels right". Everything is in some package form. The clerk doesn't even ask you if you want paper or plastic. That's because if you are normal, you don't need a bag. You take your gum, magazine, or bottle of water and leave the premise. The following items take priority:

a) Prescription refills
b) Gum
c) Water
d) Magazines

...Armenia

As luck would have it, Alexandria hosted their annual Armenian Festival the weekend I got the news; and it's a good thing cause I know basically nothing about this entire area. I realize I could go somewhere else (like Georgia or Azerbaijan) but I thought I would make a conscience effort to learn as much as I can about all three.

First off, this country is learning to cope with the workings of a free market economy. When I told one lady what I would be doing, she sounded optimistic about the IT industry there. Okay, so far so good. I asked the same lady what the weather is like there, she mentioned that winters extended into May! This is sounding better as the conversation keeps going -- I'm more a fan of winter than summer. Then, I walked over to some Armenian volunteer society booth and discussed what is going on with Armenia and it's neighbors, most notably, Iran. This lady told me Armenia happens to be just 30 minutes by plane to Tehran and that, contrary to our western media and the neo-con community, actually quite safe. While I don't think I'll be breaking bread with the Ayatollah, passport privileges permitting, I could see my curiosity getting the best of me.

Caucasus Region

It took me a while to figure out exactly where it was the recruiter told me I would be off to. Then, he told me I had been nominated for a computer science project in either Georgia, Armenia, or Azerbaijan early in '08. I know just about nothing regarding this area...which makes it all the more interesting.

More details later...

Banker tapped for Bank

It seems every time our el Presidente taps someone for a certain position, his party cringes and the rest of us puke. The World Bank was filled with someone who led the design of arguably the most controversial war in US history, a female fossil for a Supreme Court Justice spot, and a short fuzed-milk man to play nice with the rest of the world. All that being said, the most recent tap seems, in hindsight, a pretty decent one.

It helps that it is someone with banking experience, coupled with a diplomatic (rather than militaristic) background. He just looks like a banker. I can easily see him staring at me over the counter and saying, "Sir, you'll need to fill out a deposit slip for that." Only this time it's going to be, "Cambodia, we'll reduce the interest rate on you 30 year loan by 25% if you stop selling your under 14 population as sex slaves."

Srta. Universe Recap

I was hedging my bets on Venezuela. Brazil did have a great showing though. India lacked compared to their previous winners. Both East Asian reps (Japan and Korea) were good, but not enough for me to pick one of them to go all the way. Like many times before, my voice was not heard.

But of course, all the rage the morning after is our own going down in a blaze of glory during the evening gown section. At that point, she was so far out of reach, she should have double-downed and stripped! I could see a jump from 5th to 3rd, maybe even 2nd. Our prudish image would be eliminated.

Personally, I thought the show was better on Telemundo -- It was in Mexico City, adding authenticity to the overall feel, the lady MC on that station showed a little more, and the fact I couldn't understand the dude next to her talking, made it all the better. Nelly Furtado was a good selection for the intro music. And, I thought it was cool that a bald one made it into the top ten, once again showing it is all about whats on the inside of these women that counts most.

Memorial Day Weekend

It's a weekend we're supposed to celebrate our fallen from war, both past and, unfortunately, present. However you choose to do this, just make sure that you do.

On a somewhat lighter note, we were having a discussion a while back, at lunch, about airport security. It seems every time we go thru the lines, some new technology is in place. Its been a few months since I've flown last, but a machine I was asked to step thru slightly resembled that of what would have been seen on Battle Star Galactica. Finally, I have my answer as to what a "puffer" is. According to that same article, new and exciting airport security features ("sniffer") will be coming to a terminal near you. Who comes up with these names? Sniffer? Puffer?

As promised ...

to my coworkers, before I left FSI, I would make 7-layer dip, so here it is, from the bottom up:

Layer 1: Refried beans (two cans)
Layer 2: Three avocados + two 1/4 cup of lime juice = really good guacamole
Layer 3: Hot salsa (one jar)
Layer 4: Diced lettuce (1/3 of a head)
Layer 5: Medium salsa (1/2 jar) + diced jalapenos
Layer 6: Sour cream (one jar)
Layer 7: Cheese (1/2 a block grated or two bags of shredded)

That burning sensation in your stomach is my way of saying thank you for the last year and a half. Enjoy!

App Done!

Today, my last letter of reference was turned in by Ange ... and I'm so glad that I asked her, as she wrote 250 "words", not "characters", just like it asked. Really, she is a smart person, as are most of my friends. I give her some leeway as she has had a rough couple months.

I keep telling people it really hit me last week when the recruiter (previous a volunteer in Turkmenistan) took my fingerprints. The process seemed to be moving a little faster than I thought, which is okay by me, as I hate waiting on people to get my work done (just ask any previous coworker of mine). So now I wait to hear what region and program I will be working for -- should find out by the end of the week if all goes well.

Have had lots of support from friends and ... well, friends. Mom and Dad are always thrilled when their son quits his job, sell his furniture and travels half way around the world to live on the floor. I understand their concerns.

So when a person decides to make sort of a big decision, like this one (or Law/Med school, marriage, etc.) everyone asks a mother load of questions, you know, all the Why?, When?, Where? and How?'s, so I've decided not to answer anyone of those, excpet one: I'm doing it cause I want to. For other reasons, go to their website.